The Batman: Knightfall
by heartonfire
Summary: A month after the death of Harvey Two-Face and the capture of the Joker, Dr Harleen Quinzel is assigned to question the psychotic terrorist in Arkham. Meanwhile, Batman continues to lead the police on a wild goose chase, with help from Comissioner Gordon.


**Chapter 1: Psycho-analysis**

"_The Gotham Globe reported this morning that the terrorist known only as 'The Joker', who was arrested a month ago, was moved from Gotham County prison and into Arkham Asylum some time ago. While Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon says this was kept under cover for the protection of all involved, evidence indicates that the anarchist and criminal mastermind has become somewhat valuable to the police in their on-going hunt for the masked vigilante known as 'Batman'._

_Responsible for the deaths of five people almost four weeks ago, this 'caped crusader' once held the hopes of many a Gotham citizen in his hand. Though betrayed by the Batman, Gotham has seen a turn for the worst, and city officials fear that some will take the antics of our murderous ex-hero to heart and attempt a round of copy-cat killings, while others say that his presence in Gotham has only provided us with more dangerous classes of criminals from the start, and that this man-hunt should have been taken more seriously a long time ago._

_Meanwhile, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has recently moved back into Wayne Manor, which has finally finished being reconstructed over it's original location in the Palacades on the outskirts of Gotham. Mr Wayne jokingly commented that this time, he'll be leaving the Manor whenever he decides to get drunk._

_I'm Summer Gleeson of Gotham News, and up next we have a special documentary that asks 'who is the Batman?' Although Mr Reese, who once claimed to know the Batman's true identity has been reluctant to answer any questions, there are theories, some more bizarre than others. Stay tuned_."

* * *

**Arkham Asylum  
The Narrows  
21:00**

_He never moves_, she thought to herself, staring through the small window into the cell occupied by the one they were calling The Joker. _He just… sits there. Not daydreaming, not… trying to intimidate. Just… sits there._

Dr Harleen Quinzel found herself watching The Joker more and more just lately. To say her interest in him was more than professional would be truthful… he fascinated her. She wanted to know what made a man like that tick, and yet, she was almost afraid to know. He had been here almost a month, though the police had done a grand job of covering it up until now. And in that month, no less than seven doctors had quit their jobs, after spending a few hours with him. And now… now she had finally received her wish to study this man.

Of course, her superiors had been reluctant; Dr Quinzel hadn't been working at Arkham for very long, and was by all accounts a fresh face in this line of work altogether. But, in her mind, she was a far more capable doctor and psychiatrist than any other in the city, and nobody deserved this case more than she did.

"You can come in, if you like… I won't bite".  
That voice chilled her, right to the bone, though she was certain that nothing showed on her expression as she unbolted the door and stepped into the small room. White walls, smeared in lipstick and green dye, bearing the signs of a madman and yet… he didn't seem mad. He seemed perfectly normal, sitting in his chair on the other side of the only table in the room.  
Sitting resolutely opposite him, Harleen placed her clip-board on the table and adjusted her glasses.

"You're prettier than the last… she had no sense of style" The Joker leered, leaning quite casually in his seat.  
"What… exactly do you mean?" Harleen asked, peering over the rim of her glasses, her eyes unblinking as though she wished to stare him down.  
"Red and black, and quite co-ordinated. I can tell you're a woman who takes herself seriously… who keeps things in order. Which begs the question… what happens when order and chaos are put in a room together?"

Harleen frowned at the all-too accurate analysis.  
"You consider yourself to be an advocate of chaos then, do you?" Harleen asked, deciding now was as good a time as any to begin her psycho-analysis.  
"No no no, you're starting at the boring part. Come on Doc… you got a name? What's your name?"  
"Har.. Harleen. Doctor Harleen Quinzel. What's yours?" she asked, recomposing herself. Suddenly, she wondered if perhaps… this assignment would be too much for her. Already she was losing control of the situation.  
The Joker smiled… horribly. Lipstick smattered carelessly over his scarred, swollen mouth, his lips baring and stretching and a shrieking, hysterical wail of laughter pouring from the dark crevice in his face, until Harleen could bear no more and she finally winced.

"MY name? Do you know how many times I've been asked that?" he asked, suddenly no longer laughing, no longer smiling. Slamming both hands on the table, he leaned across until he was eye-to-eye with a quivering Dr Quinzel, so close she could see the cracks in his foundation, the rough scarring on his cheeks, and the hollowness of his eyes.  
"You… you said you'd co-operate. We've met your demands…" she began, but The Joker was already settling back down in his seat.  
"Oh, that you did" he admitted, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt dramatically. "There's something about those boring orange boiler suits that distracts me. I'm not one of them… NO, I'm not" he snapped, raising his voice as Harleen made to protest, looking as though she was about to tell him that he wouldn't be in Arkham if he wasn't 'one of them'.

"No. And I won't be dressed like one. But as you so cleverly pointed out, I DID agree to co-operate…"  
"We'll begin with a name then, shall we?" asked Harleen, her pen hovering over her clipboard. "And after your name, some background information, if you'd be so kind". Finally feeling as though she'd regained some control over the situation, Harleen relaxed a little, managing to take her eyes from the grotesque caricature before her.

"Where do we begin… My name is Joseph. Joseph King, former hitman for the mob, but they didn't like my methods. No… they thought I was too outspoken, too.. RADICAL for their jobs. So I told 'em to lighten up, stop being so serious about everything. I mean…" he laughed crazily, gripping onto the edge of the table, "you work for the mob, it don't mean everyone has to wear bowler hats and talk with an Italian accent and keep low, this is Gotham for crying out loud!  
"But no, they didn't like it" he continued, a somber expression on his manic face. "They also didn't like it when, one day, one of our jobs went badly. Police got involved, and one of our men was killed. I said to 'em, I said "Look on the funny side of things, we'll get more credit". But… they didn't take too kindly. They gave me these" he muttered in a low voice, spreading his hand before his mouth to indicate his scars.

"So, Mr King, how is it you came to be the man Gotham lived in fear of? A small time mobster with facial scars doesn't make it to the top of his game that quickly, and I'd know, I've analysed far too many. I'm the one who took over the Falcone case when Dr Crane did his disappearing act…" she murmered, glancing up from her clipboard.  
"Y'see, now you're getting to the boring part again. You haven't listened to my tale" The Joker chided, cracking his knuckles and putting his clasped hands behind his head.  
"Okay, as you're talking… continue" Harleen prompted, noting his comments on her clipboard.

"Well, as you can tell, I didn't like what they did… so I made them see the funny side. I took their money, I killed their men, I even took over their little regime… all the little things that annoyed them, but they were powerless to stop me. They said I went too far, that I raised the bar further than they would have ever done, so… I raised it further! But not one of them, for one second, realised that beneath this make-up, beneath the insanity they saw… it never clicked that I was simply one of them. I was just Joe King".  
"They never… oh…" Harleen muttered, looking at her notes. "Oh, very funny" she snapped, glancing at the name he'd given her. The Joker, on the other hand, found it very funny, that shrieking laugh bouncing off the walls of his tiny cell once again, bloodshot eyes looking as though they may pop from his ghostly face, the scars of his mouth stretching to the point that Harleen thought they may split.  
"Fine, if you're not going to co-operate…" she snapped, now angry and somewhat disappointed by the man she'd so looked forward to analysing.

"Leaving so soon? Perhaps you're asking the wrong questions, Harley… come on, come on, sit down. SIT… down" he barked, once more serious, and Harleen felt somewhat compelled to do as he demanded.  
"What questions would you be willing to answer?" she asked, drawing neat lines through everything she'd written about him so far.  
"Nothing on that sheet of paper, no. Ask me what YOU want to ask me. Not what the rules say you should ask, that… that's just garbage, I mean, come on, how do you expect to work your little psychiatric thingy on a man like me?" he laughed.  
"But I…"  
"You're not listening. These people, the ones paying you to do this, they don't care what answers you get. They care about… about the mundane little things. They care about taking the trash out, and doing their little grocery shopping and pressing their clothes for work, do you really think their small minds have the time or the… ability to comprehend anything I have to say? No… I'll only answer questions that YOU want to ask, Harley. Welcome to YOUR psycho-analysis, not the one that your bosses penned up for you".

Harleen sat for a full minute, stunned into silence, and contemplating his words.  
Finally, she stood, leaving her clipboard on the table, and crossed the room to shut the hatch over the small window in the door.  
"Well what d'ya know? The doctor does know how to play" The Joker chuckled, snatching up the clipboard and tearing her notes from it, ripping the sheets of paper into small pieces, and scattering them across the room.  
"Okay, let's talk…"


End file.
